“You must forgive Elena,” came a gentle voice. “If she has not Kamal, she has nothing.”
Arabella opened her eyes. The woman who had spoken stood above her, her belly swollen mightily with child. Kamal’s child? “Who are you?”
“I am Lella. I wished to speak to the woman who managed to anger Kamal.” She spoke in very slow, precise Italian.
Arabella swung her legs over the edge of the chaise and sat up. “Please sit down. It is hot and your burden is heavy.”
Lella nodded and eased herself down beside Arabella. “You are English, child?”
“Child?” Arabella smiled. “You are scarce older than I.”
“I am nearly twenty-five, and carrying this babe makes me feel like a graceless old woman.”
Arabella shook her head. “You’re beautiful,” she said. Lella’s thick dark brown hair glistened with amber light, and her heart-shaped face was classical in its perfection. Her gray eyes were warm and intelligent.
“I had thought you would be kind. Is it true that you angered Kamal so that he tied you to his bed?”
“I was relieved to be tied to his bed and not be in it,” Arabella said. She paused, then tilted her chin upward. “I am sorry if you carry his child and are perhaps fond of him, but—”
Lella gurgled with laughter. “Yes, I am fond of him,” she said at last, clasping her hands over her huge belly. “It is not his child I carry.”
Arabella frowned at her.
“Kamal is my brother-in-law,” Lella said. “My husband was Hamil.” Her voice broke on his name, and she whispered, “He did not even know I was with child when he died.”
“I’m sorry. Forgive me for wounding you. It is just that I do not know what to do, and my helplessness makes me a witch.”
Lella patted her hand. “You are not a witch. Indeed, it was a witch who sent you here. Kamal’s mother is a woman who knows only bitterness and hate. Kamal is not like her.”
“Ha! He has treated me with contempt, called me a liar and a harlot, accused my parents of the most ridiculous crimes, and you tell me he is not like his mother.”
“My, I would like to have seen that,” Lella said, admiration in her voice. “Kamal is usually so kind, particularly to women, and so exquisitely calm. What did you say to him to spend your night tied to his bed?”
“Perhaps I was not wise but he angered me so. I called him an animal, a barbarian, a savage—”
Lella held up her hand in horror. “No more. My dear child, you are fortunate not to be dead.”
Arabella shrugged. “As to that, he cannot kill me. I am bait, and bait must be live to be useful. And if my anger keeps him from ravishing me, I shall become a demon from hell.”
“But I have heard that you, well, that you are no maid.”
“Another of his mother’s lies. Lella, is there anything you can do to help me?”
“No, child, I am truly sorry. Were it not for Kamal, I would even now be shut away, or worse, sold months ago. Carrying Hamil’s child made me particularly vulnerable to his enemies. But Kamal would not allow his mother to treat me with other than honor. Perhaps you can speak to him more reasonably, convince him of your innocence, at least. If you ceased to antagonize him, were perhaps kind, he would likely listen to you.”
It was on the tip of Arabella’s tongue to tell Lella that she would as soon be kind to the devil himself, but an idea came to her, one so simple, one so final, that she could not disregard it. She accepted it, knowing there was no other way. Suddenly she felt calm and serene. “Perhaps you are right, Lella,” she said at last.
Lella stared at her doubtfully, disliking the cold calmness in her voice. She said slowly, not realizing that she was planting seeds of action in Arabella’s mind. “As I said, Kamal is not a vicious man. Indeed, you are so lovely, he could not long be angered if you behaved more like . . . well . . . like a . . .”
“A soft, submissive woman?”
“Yes. You are, after all, a woman.”
“And women play roles, do they not?”
“I am not certain what you mean. My Italian is not so fluent as yours.”
“It matters not. Oh dear, here comes Elena again. Has she nothing else to do besides attack me?”